Sunday, January 11, 2009

Filling Station

"Check your karma?

Rotate your circle of life?"

“No, my mother warned me against extended metaphors

One minute, they are picking daisies

The next, they are in a distant universe

Where the strings vibrate in reverse.”


“A wise woman.”

“Yes, she taught me to tell my left soul

from my right soul;

what to wear to a crucifixion or an enlightenment,

how to act when the Messiah comes.”


“Some say he is here already.”

“I know. I saw him one day.

I called his name: he downed a beer

And slid out the back door.”
“Messiahs are like that,

Never one around when you need them.”


“And there is this yearning for earth.”

“The earth yearns too.”

“Yes, always.”

Saturday, January 3, 2009

Priscilla's Daughter

Not many voices are nearer

Priscilla's daughter.

Not many are so young in the morning

alive with quiet eyes

and hands that clench and unclench.


Your voice is clear,

like morning air;

and your purple blouse

is like lilacs.


Your breath carries honey scents

that drive the bees mad and

send the birds

singing into the dew.


Priscilla's daughter,

young with voices,

which soar like the butterflies,

that sat through the night, dew-drenched, and heavy,

then dry in the morning sun

and rise exuberantly.


You are among the brightest

as you lift your voice

to the sky.